Here Ruth turned fiercely upon her. "And how do you know he did? He
probably ate it himself before he got to Mrs. Eagan's. He would tell
you he didn't, of course. He's an awful liar and always was. You know
that, Joanna, as well as I do."
"Liar! No, no, Miss Ruth! You don't know him. He got entirely over
that, years ago. He's as truthful as anybody. Long ago, before he went
away to school, his father made him ashamed of his lies and----"
"Oh, for a time perhaps! Bad boys don't become good over night."
"But, Miss Ruth, please listen. You only knew him when you were both
very young. He really cured himself. He has not lied since. He was too
young to know better. But even with his lying he was always a good boy."
"A good boy! Ha! He was not a good boy. I knew him better than you did.
He was like all other boys and no boys are good. They are nothing but
little pirates, prize fighters, screaming, noisy Indians, because they
are savages themselves. They have no honor. They worship criminals
and always want the criminal to escape, because they are criminals
themselves. And Cyrus was just like the others. Good indeed! He was
always evil minded."
"Evil minded! Cyrus evil minded!"
Ruth stopped, and stood before Joanna. "I tell you he's bad--just bad.
As a boy he was bad, as a man he is bad--treacherous, cowardly, mean
spirited and absolutely dishonorable. And that's why I hate him!"
For a moment, with angry eyes and quivering lips she stood looking
down into the other woman's puzzled face. Then, dropping to her knees,
she buried her face in Joanna's lap.
"Oh, I am so unhappy! So unhappy! Let me die!"
Joanna understood. Although unemotional herself she knew how to
sympathize with the passion torn woman at her knees. Her own calm
spirit and soothing words had their effect, and Ruth was soon herself
again.
"And now, dearie," said Joanna, "I am going to bring you a cup of tea."
Alone in the green sitting room Ruth seated herself beside the center
table. This table held, with other things, several books and papers,
one or two mechanical drawings, some magazines and books. One of these
books was lying open, just before her. A paragraph at the top of one of
the open pages was marked in pencil. Being a scientific book Cyrus must
have marked it. At that moment any thought of interest to him appealed
to Ruth as something sanctified by his absence, a special message to
herself. Besides, that the book should be lying open at this particular
page seemed to her over wrought spirit as if placed there by Cyrus
himself for her to read.
Had she stopped to think she would have known the open book was
accidental, as she was the last person whom Cyrus could expect to visit
him. But Fate and Providence do stranger things than fiction dares
invent.
Carefully she read the marked passage, in a reverent spirit, as she
would read a farewell message from a departed friend. It said:
"All sounds from earth are drifting forever into space. A strain of
music will reach, in time, the most distant star. The music of the
spheres is not an empty phrase. We know that wherever light will travel
those waves that carry light through space will carry sound. Messages
from other planets, for all we know, are reaching us to-day, but we are
not attuned to hear them. Our own little song, or prayer, may reach the
farthest star, but for its reception the sender and recipient must be
in true accord."
With quivering hands she clutched the book, held it up before her eyes,
and read the words again. Then she dropped the book upon the table and
started up. In her eyes was a new light.
"But for its reception," she repeated, "the sender and recipient must
be in true accord!"
In true accord! Yes, she and Drowsy were in true accord, even as
children. If there was one person in this world specially endowed
by Providence to receive such a message, surely it was Drowsy; he
who received even the unspoken thoughts of others! She recalled her
wonderment as a child when her whispered message was understood by him,
at his own home, nearly a mile away. It seemed to her then,--and now--a
supernatural gift. And if this author were correct no distance, however
vast, would be an obstacle.
When Joanna returned with the tea she found her patient again in a
state of excitement, but excitement of another kind. This time it was
the thrill of a new hope; the exhilaration of a great joy.
* * * * *
Late that night, when this world--and other worlds, it seemed--were
silent, Ruth went out into the darkness. Down at the further end of
the long garden, she stood, for a time, looking up into the heavens.
The storm had passed. Slowly, from the west, great clouds were
drifting across a black but starry sky. She shuddered at the thought
of a human being far out in that frigid, infinite waste, a helpless
wanderer,--dead perhaps,--and driven by her own act!
Her eyes sought vainly to delve into the solemn spaces between the
stars. Who could believe a human voice or a thought could penetrate
those black, appalling depths? But she remembered the sentence,
"All sounds from earth are drifting forever into space."
Then, looking up toward the ruddy planet, and putting her one absorbing
thought into fewest words, she said in a low voice, but clearly spoken:
"Cyrus, come back. I have always loved you."
Three times she repeated it; and each time with an overflowing heart.
* * * * *
If, among the undiscovered forces between other worlds and ours, there
moves, like waves of light, a psychic power intensified by human love,
repentance and devotion, then this woman's message should reach the
uttermost limits of celestial space. Her very soul was in it.
[Illustration]